


Sweet Talk

by rosereddawn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Horror, Hell Fic, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 11:04:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7799269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosereddawn/pseuds/rosereddawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little old snippet of Alastair having a good time with Dean (or what's left of Dean).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Talk

He has his heart lying somewhere on the floor. Lost it. Just fell out from his open ribcage when there wasn’t enough tissue left to keep it in.

Alastair has been busy. 

Here is the mess of Dean’s intestines spooled out across the rack. Here is his skin hanging from a nail like an old coat, and here are his tongue and his liver and one blood-smeared eye staring back at him, all cut out and tossed aside. 

And Alastair, he smiles. He’s put on a face today and has a little blood there on his cheek. A little more blood on his hands, all the way up to his elbows, turning black where it dries.

“After all this time, Dean, I believe we’re finally getting to know each other. Let me foster our tender bond, with a little attention and care.”

The scalpel clatters across the stained silver platter. There’s nothing left to cut apart. Surely it’ll end now, it’ll end soon. 

But instead of turning his back like usual, disinterested in seeing his work wiped clean, Alastair moves closer. Between two fingertips, he holds Dean’s lost eye. He cups all the splintered, broken bits of Dean’s jaw and sinks the eye back into its socket. 

“There,” he says. “There,” smile all teeth and oily smoke where the face doesn’t sit right. 

Then he starts coiling the entrails into neat loops, places them inside the nest of Dean’s stripped pelvis, and Dean, Dean is rattling all of his bones against the rack. 

This is not how the story goes. Torture is a one-way street to demolition, then snap, restoration, he spits out his harbored “no” and off to the chains he goes, to wait for another round. 

It doesn’t happen like this, Alastair putting him back together piece by broken piece, until his image is no longer a mess of wretched shreds but appears almost human again. And if Alastair’s intention is to start all over once he’s done then maybe this is how it ends. Maybe this is why he’s wearing his Sunday dress. Ready to receive that precious “yes”. Already he’s holding Dean’s skin for him to slip into, surely only to tear it off again. 

“No,” Dean begs. “No.” 

When Alastair says, “Step inside,” he does. Lets Alastair pull the skin across his legs like stockings and stitch it closed across his belly. Still he’s mumbling “No, no, no,” like it means anything in this place.

Alastair pulls his eyelids down, folds the skin in over his lips, and says, “Ah, but yes. Don’t be a downer, kiddo. There’s so much potential in that stubborn noggin of yours. One day you’re going to make me proud.”

He rubs a finger over the corner of Dean’s lip and it doesn’t hurt. His voice tilts into a drawn out singsong. “Smile for a while and let’s be jolly.” His arms close around Dean’s back. With a soft touch, he strokes his hair. “Love shouldn’t be so melancholy.”

It doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts, safe for a hollow ache in his chest.

Down on the floor, there’s Dean’s heart. Alastair gives him a squeeze. 

“I’ll be keeping that safe for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Alastair sings Lynn Anderson's Rose Garden: 
> 
> _Well if sweet-talkin' you could make it come true  
>  I would give you the world right now on a silver platter  
> But what would it matter  
> So smile for a while and let's be jolly  
> Love shouldn't be so melancholy_


End file.
